


Pollination

by stria_terminalis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And machines churn it to honey, Bee boys, Boypussy, Fucking Machines, I demand more fics torturing derek, Inaccurate biology, Inflation, Large Insertion, Other, Overstimulation, Plant sex, Restraints, Size Kink, Tentacles, The plants stuff them with pollen, This is just clashing every weird kink i've ever had, Watersports, belly bulge, roll with it I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 03:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11843250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stria_terminalis/pseuds/stria_terminalis
Summary: Stiles hears gasps and pained whines from the bee boys around him, too; they’re all hooked up to the plant now, and their delicate wings flutter excitedly at their backs.





	Pollination

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt which I'd be surprised if I ever found again. What's new! Heads up as this is quite heavy on the kink, though I think everything's listed in the tags.

They're all first-timers, nervously flitting from the hive in a flutter of wings and limbs, each boy following the group instinct toward a sweetness on the air. Stiles feels a hot jolt in his abdomen when he sees the pollen-rich plant and he swallows, tucking into the dive. They've trained all their lives in the theory of pollination, but never in practice - and now, having just reached maturity, the systems of every boy in this worker group are in overdrive, their unused wombs aching and bloodstreams surging with hormones.

The deep-green plants form a series of cocoons alongside a fallen tree trunk, each one large enough to hold a worker swarm twice the size of their little group. When Stiles lands, the glossy leaves barely dip under the slight weight of his slim body, and he follows another boy inside through a gap in the cocoon. It's warm, and the vines wake at the scent of the bee boys climbing inside - they sense a group which is anxious, but empty, and desperate to collect as much pollen as their tiny bodies can carry.

Derek - the boy just in front of Stiles - is snatched up first, and Stiles has just enough time to watch the vines snare and spread the other boy’s legs before he feels them wrapping around his own ankles, opening his thighs and dragging him to the side of the cocoon. He can feel his exposed, sensitive holes being automatically pressed to the wall, which is starting to shift; a second later, something smooth uncurls and starts to explore his folds, probing gently. Stiles lets out a high breath and the tip of the vine immediately starts to drool sweet, thick pollen. It’s like warm syrup pouring over his hole, and his body quivers, spine arching, sharp hips rocking back helplessly. The vine’s not deep - only a fingertip’s worth - but his body is overloading, already into breeding mode. He can feel his abdomen heating up as the thing gently massaging his channel retracts, and the next thing that the plant pushes into Stiles makes him groan out loud. The new vine straining to fully push itself up inside him is still slippery and soft, but it’s much thicker than the last one, and covered in irregular bumps and ridges which drag along his sensitive, silky inner walls. Stiles hears gasps and pained whines from the bee boys around him, too; they’re all hooked up to the plant now, and their delicate wings flutter excitedly at their backs.

When the pollen vines start to fuck back and forth, Stiles’ hands fly to his abdomen and he moans at the pleasure, grinding his body back to get it as deep as it will fit. Faint squelching noises fill the cocoon as the tiny bee boys are drilled with stiff, bulky shafts as long as their forearms. Training classes only ever prepared them for this with dildos: a dozen boys bent over their desks, younger than even these, moaning and sweating as their teacher crams another inch into their overstuffed channels - they wouldn't be allowed out for lunch until it was tied in place, their tummies distended around the heavy silicone.

In practice, of course, plants aren't grown to match identical silicone moulds. Opposite from Stiles, Derek is wailing. He’s been dragged by chance to a corner of the cocoon which holds vines that each end in a monstrous phallus - a happy accident of rich soil and sunlight - and he’s clutching his belly in both hands like he's afraid it'll burst. Stiles can see the colossal breeding pole surging back and forth inside him from here, the tip stomach-deep.

“Too much,” the other bee boy sobs, “it's ruined m-my… it's ruining my insides…”

Even as Stiles watches, he can feel his own abused hole contracting, milking the plant, and his vision blurs with pleasure when it begins paying off. The plant swells and dumps the first glut of pollen into his needy, sensitive womb, unloading in long, sticky blasts. First, he feels a little tender and heavy, then after a few moments there’s an uncomfortable strain, and then he’s bloating heavily.

Around him, the boys moan uncontrollably, holding their rapidly swelling tummies. The fluid is thicker than the kind that they trained with. Some are crying. A couple have already come, and Stiles feels his body seize up in orgasm when his insides audibly groan, gurgling under the extreme pressure. Breathing in deep gasps, Stiles bites his lip and runs shaky fingers over what used to be a skinny, flat tummy, with a tiny waist and sharp, bony boy-hips. His whole belly is now obscenely distended, and the skin stretches taut over his inflated womb. He groans at the extra weight in his guts, massaging in an attempt to soothe the aching mass. It squashes his organs, the sweet fluid making him dizzy from the inside. He feels dazed and drugged, the disorientation only beginning.

His opening gapes as the fat vine wetly slips free, leaving behind a solid plug of crystallised pollen to be removed back at the hive. Stiles collapses to his knees, head spinning. He can't stop touching his heaving belly. Even when he pushes with a fingertip, the skin is taut and solid; he mewls with discomfort and massages softly, looking around.

Most of the bee boys have been similarly dumped to the cocoon floor, though two are still impaled, their wombs near-bursting. Several are hiccoughing weakly from the battering that their diaphragms have taken. Derek - ruined by the big vine - is barely breathing, the mass of his pollen load almost twice that of the boys next to him. His body is far too slender for its obscene quantity, his syrup-bloated insides distended far beyond their limits. Derek moans softly in pain, eyelids fluttering. He dazedly fingers the wet ruin of his pollen-hole, feeling how thoroughly it has been resized.

The journey back is pitifully slow. Each pair of glossy wings limply flutters against the bee boys’ backs, useless with the extra weight. Each boy clutches his belly, stumbling on, pausing often. They can hardly draw breath. Every step lurches, the sloshing mass inside threatening to unbalance them. To fall now could cause serious internal damage. The air is filled with high, soft, desperate whimpering, and the low, dangerous gurgles of their abused reproductive systems. Stiles and another boy attempt to support Derek, as their weakest and heaviest member. He bravely bites his lip with tears in his eyes as he staggers onward. “Get it out,” he moans quietly, “oh god please, I need to get it out of me.”

“I'm too full,” another sobs.

“I don't feel right-”

“My little tummy,” one cries, “it hurts so much.”

Hive workers arrive to help for the last part of the journey, lending arms for many and stretchers for some. It's with deep relief that Stiles is finally in the hive’s breeding chamber, strapped into the extraction machine, a leather belt carefully fastened around his girth to help support its weight. Derek is hooked up next to him, still softly moaning in pain. His deformed belly is flushed a deep, angry pink, the internal pressure high enough to cause bruising and swelling. Stiles offers him a tired smile, which is weakly returned. Behind them, the machines hiss and swivel into position.

With their tummies hanging beneath them, the machine’s attachments have full access to the bee boys’ holes, and the first probe sinks into Stiles to loosen his pollen plug. It works with gentle thrusts and soft, steady vibrations. He’s never felt this before and he whimpers at how good it feels, his clit throbbing, limbs squirming in their restraints. Beside him, Derek is sobbing gratefully as the stimulation makes him come on the spot. Once the plug is loose, their passages begin to cramp and push it out. Stiles whines at the stretch and his pollen hole gapes afterwards. It's been reduced to a fucked-out, plush tunnel to his soaked, packed core.

The next device inches up into him before any pollen can escape, and it's so fat that the machine has to pull downwards at his ankle straps to ensure that he’s properly impaled. Stiles feels tears spring to his eyes as it stretches out his cervix. When it gives, the machine plunges into his womb, punching out a little wail as his belly bloats even further.

The attachments at the device’s tip open up. They're like windmill blades which rotate around the central shaft, but they're scoop-shaped, designed to stir up the pollen in the boys’ tummies like slushie machines. Stiles knows that they’re lucky - the escaped charges of human beekeepers tell stories of how they are routinely submitted to repeated overstuffing without any time for their wombs to recover, and that many of the more sensitive and fragile bee boys die from inflation fatigue. Worse, the pollen is also pumped up into the anus, dangerously bloating up their intestines and stomachs, the weight unbearable and confining them to the extraction machines for life. Stiles feels his tummy strain to accomodate the big, ribbed dildo. He can’t imagine his stomach being loaded to bursting too - espectially not for days, while his holes are plugged and overstimmed to enhance the pollen’s flavour.

A heavy jolt kicks through Stiles as they switch on the machine. First, it rotates, the motor purring as the sails churn inside Stiles’ packed little womb. The heave of pollen stirring clockwise makes him scream and clutch his belly, the entire thing visibly churning. Then, the dildo pumps _inward_ , ramming all the way to the back of his womb and abusing his sore stomach, stirring and grinding by force. Stiles’ eyes roll and his legs spasm. He pisses himself on the spot and, all around him, at least three or four of the other bee boys feel their bladders collapse, too. Stiles bursts into tears of humiliation, but then - finally - the dildo vibrates to encourage the loosening of pollen clinging to Stiles’ inner walls, and within seconds he’s reduced to a quaking, squirting, moaning wreck, rocking back and forth, his eyes wet. The colossal vibrator grinds and pounds and stirs his insides without mercy, shaking him like an impaled ragdoll. He can’t breathe. He can’t remember his name.

By the time the pollen has been churned to honey, each of the bee boys is hit with waves of contractions, and the dildos are retracted with a series of squelching sounds. Stiles gingerly touches his deformed tummy, sweat trickling down the curve of it. Each cramp squeezes the crystallised honey down to his cervix, and he can feel the solid, slow mass of it sinking past his wrecked muscles.

It's a long, heavy birthing. Stiles watches the boy across from him - Derek is drooling, _shaking_ , belly drenched in sweat as his near-failing womb slowly evacuates. The machine can tell that he’s struggling, and it starts to automatically tighten the leather belt around his middle. Stiles looks away, but he can hear the tortured sounds that the bee boy’s body makes as the machine squeezes him empty like a tube of toothpaste.

" _I'm coming_ ," Derek sobs, his legs spasming, and torrents of honey hit the floor.

Every boy in the chamber is either unconscious or mindless within half an hour, and the large honey tank against the wall is almost overflowing. Stiles’ eyes are already slipping closed. A blissful, worn-out ache spreads from his belly, and he lets a hive worker detach him from the extraction machine. The bee boys are soon curled up in a communal bed together to recuperate, some not waking again for days.

Next week, they go out all over again.


End file.
